Five Encounters
by jenny jar
Summary: Andy and Miranda meet again. MirAndy
1. First

**Disclaimer**Whatever you can recognize is not mine.

**Warning:** English is neither my first, not my second language. Proceed at your own risk.

**FIVE ENCOUNTERS**

**First.**

Normally, Andy liked going to museums or hanging out with her best friend Lily just fine. Today, however, neither activity was enjoyable.

She, probably, should have realized it earlier. When, for instance, Lily and she had to brave the New York's January wind for almost an hour, while waiting in line to get in the Guggenheim. Or when Lily got into a heated argument with some German tourist over one of the artworks.

Andy sighed and looked around. The museum was completely packed. No wonder then that every time she would try to spend more than two seconds in a row focused on a painting, someone would get in front of her, or push her, or start talking next to her. Somewhere back on the second circle she had to admit it that coming to see this new exhibition on the weekend was a bad idea. And by now she'd had enough. She was sick and tired of craning her neck, searching for unobstructed view, of careful navigating through crowds, of Bernd, that German guy who now dragged after Lily and her, challenging her friend's opinion on every speck of paint in a frame they'd passed.

"Zat'z how I see zat."

Andy thought there was a pause. "Lil."

"No, Bernd, you're simply misinterpreting the meaning of it."

May be this was one. "Lil, I'll--."

"Vy'd you say zat?"

"Because the spectrum of his ideas alone is a challenge to the sheer concept of cubism. You see, there is this hint of--."

Sometimes, Andy really hated it when her friend got like that – totally consumed by an idea, by an argument. Andy tugged at her hand. "Hey."

"What?" A bit surprised Lily finally looked at her.

"I'll--I'll catch up with you later."

"Um. Okay. Sure." Lily frowned, but the next moment her attention was back on Bernd.

Andy shook her head and turned around, searching for the best way to extract herself from the crowd. She spotted an unoccupied corner of a bench and went for it.

The corner of the bench happened to be much smaller than she needed to sit comfortably, and she had to pull her legs very close, as they appeared to be on the way of everyone passing by. "Well, this is definitely _not_ the best way to spend a Sunday morning," Andy thought. Then again, the alternative was--. What? Watching TV? Doing The Times' crossword puzzle? Cleaning the apartment? She could do it any other weekend. Which she did. Every other weekend. Well.

A group of Asian tourists chirped by, led by a tour guide with a little umbrella over his head. Andy looked at their faces, features arranged in a matching eager concentration, and for a moment felt envious – she couldn't remember the time when she, Andy Sachs, was that eager about--well--anything, really.

Interesting. She used to think that as soon as she was done with Runway, her life would make sense again. The very least she'd stop worrying about the right choice of a skirt she put on in the morning and finally concentrate on proving to the world that she was a great writer. Or journalist. Or--. Well.

It had been over a year since she stopped being at Miranda Priestly's beck and call day in and day out, but this fact was yet to translate into any meaningful consequence in her life. Her job at Mirror, while not about dressing correctly and fetching coffee, was far from what she imaged herself doing for the rest of her life. Still, because of the way she left Runway, she should consider herself lucky she even had that job.

For a while Andy sat, contemplating the apparently sorry state of her career. Which, in turn, led her to contemplate the state of her personal affairs that was not all that promising either.

Well.

Well.

An old man next to her got up, and his place was immediately taken by a woman on the phone. She was speaking in a language Andy couldn't recognize, but she was so loud that Andy felt like she was intruding on a private conversation, even though she couldn't understand a word of it. That was uncomfortable. Two minutes later Andy got up - it was time to find Lily anyway. Hopefully, her friend was ready to ditch the German guy by now.

Andy headed for the stairs, maneuvering in the crowd that seemed had thickened while she was sitting. "This is ridiculous," she murmured, as she ducked yet another, determined to stay together, tour group. "Ridiculous."

She was almost at the stairs, when something caught her eye. Andy frowned. No, it wasn't possible. Just because she thought about her job at Runway, she wouldn't have to come face to face with the hero, or rather the heroine, of her nightmares.

Andy hesitated, but then looked to the side, at the spot, where she thought she saw a fragment of white haired head. No, it was only her imagination. Andy checked again, and let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. Weird.

She made one more step and froze – right in front of her stood Miranda Priestly. Andy's felt as her jaw went slack, and a basic "Hello" seemed to stack in her throat. Thankfully, before Miranda noticed her, the crowd shifted, and Andy was forced to step aside, away from Miranda's line of vision.

Andy snapped her mouth shut. All right, what was that all about? Impatiently, she patted her hair and gave herself a quick once over. She was not afraid of Miranda Priestly. She was going to go and say "Hello" and "How are you" like a normal adult. She _was not_ afraid of Miranda Priestly.

Andy walked around a couple, studying the floor plan, and opened her mouth. Then, closed it. Next to her former boss stood two identical redhead girls. "Caroline and Cassidy," the memory supplied. "Miranda's twin daughters." The three talked quietly to each other, pointing to different parts of painting in front of them. Andy opened her mouth again, but before anything came out, another shift in crowd pushed her away from the group.

This was getting to be really annoying. For a brief moment Andy considered if she should just ignore the whole "Miranda Priestly almost run-in" incident and go search for Lily. But then she remembered about being an adult, and that she wasn't afraid, and with decisive huff pushed her way through the crowd.

A relief washed over her before Andy realized the reason for it - Miranda was gone. Good. Good. Now she could go and look for Lily. She turned back.

Only--. Only--. Only she should really go and say "Hello" to Miranda.

Andy sighed, looked around the room, and saw the woman in question with her daughters moving toward the exit. She quickly followed them.

She caught up with them easily. The three stopped at the balustrade, and as one of the girls looked down, the other was telling something to Miranda, who listened in a total concentration. Andy hesitated, unwilling to interrupt. And then, she saw Miranda ran her hand over her daughter's red tresses. And then she saw Miranda smiled.

During her tenure as Runway employee, Andy'd seen different kinds of Miranda Priestly's smiles – sarcastic, and angry, and polite, and--. But she had never seeing her smile to be like this - warm, tender, indulgent. Real.

Andy stepped back and averted her gaze, feeling like an intruder. But then she snack a peek again. Wow, who would have thought? Miranda's whole face changed with that smile. It was still Miranda Priestly's face, and yet it wasn't. Suddenly, Andy felt that she would give a lot to know the person with that face. That was why when Miranda and her daughters headed to the next room, she trailed after them.

Andy followed them almost all the way down. It didn't take all that long, because the three stopped only at a couple of pictures.

"They are probably on their way back," mused Andy. "Or they have some kind of plan as to what they should see. Or--." Navigating through crowds, she considered a couple more ideas, because it was easier than to think why she continued her pursuit - she wasn't going to talk to Miranda, and she really should be looking for Lily instead.

Nevertheless, there she was, ducking behind people, keeping in the shadows, and alternatively speeding up and slowing down, just to remain unnoticed by Miranda without letting the woman and her daughters out of her sight.

While doing that, Andy discovered that one of the girls' enjoyed the exhibition very much and the other one didn't; that Miranda knew about art, as she seemed to explain something to the girls at every painting they were stopping; that Miranda's presence affected not only the Runway employees, but people in general, as no one even try to stand close to her and there was always clear pass for her in the crowd, when she walked.

And there was another thing Andy noticed - Miranda looked amazing. She always did, but in this packed museum it was an absolutely incredible sight. In the sea of jeans, sweaters, sneakers, and ill-fitted jackets, her impeccable suit, perfect make-up and hair, made Miranda look like she came from some other, higher world. Well, may be she did in a sense.

Andy stood at the balustrade of the first circle, watching Miranda and the girls putting on their coats down in the lobby. Then, through the glass wall, she saw them walking out on the street and getting into a limousine. As the car drove away, Andy continued looking at the spot, where she last saw Miranda disappeared behind the black door.

"Hey, here you are."

Andy stirred and turned around. "Oh. Are you done?"

"Yes." Lily was looking at her with suspicion.

"Great, lets go grab some lunch," Andy hurriedly offered. "I am starving."

"Sure." Lily frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Of course." She tried to be as nonchalant as possible. "Lets go."

Half an hour later they were sitting in a cheap Mexican bar, chewing their tacos and sipping Margaritas. As Lily was joking about Bernd, Andy suddenly wondered which restaurant Miranda would go to for lunch. And if she ever ate tacos.


	2. Second

**Second.**

Andy felt strangely apprehensive about this assignment from the moment she got it. For the better part of the week it puzzled her why a prospect of an independent coverage of a worthy cause would make her feel anything but pleased. Especially, when the event took place on Thursday night, the same night she was supposed to go on a blind date with the secretary's neighbor. The poor woman had been trying to set her up for so long that Andy had ran out of all the excuses, and the assignment came extremely handy.

Even now, sitting in the brightly lit auditorium, Andy fidgeted so much that Sean, her photographer, a young guy ecstatic to be on his fist real job, stopped adjusting and readjusting his camera and asked, "Hey, are you feeling okay?"

She stilled. "Yes, I am fine. Fine."

The guy uttered a noncommittal "hmm" and glanced at his watch. "Shouldn't they start already?"

"Um. Yeah." Andy took out her notebook and opened the program. Alright, "Presented by…" "Third Annual Concert…" "Funds raised…" "this year's Charity organizations include…" "sponsors…" Andy gritted her teeth, "Focus, damn it, focus!"

"Andy?" Sean looked at her, frowning.

"Sorry," she said, as the lights began to dim. "Sometimes I like to talk to myself."

"Hmm," the guy uttered again.

Meanwhile, the announcer, a performance arts teacher from one of the participating schools, came on stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, dear parents and guests…"

And then it hit Andy. Hurriedly she grabbed the program and in a faint red light of the Exit sign above her head read the title page again. Shit. How could she not think of it before?! One of the schools participating in the concert was the school Miranda Priestly's twin daughters went to.

Shit.

Her hand shaking slightly Andy opened the program and read the names of the kids performing. Sure enough, next to the last number in the concert was a piece from "Swan Lake" danced by, among others, Caroline and Cassidy Priestly. The thin paper of the program crumpled in her hands. Shit.

This was exactly what she needed – a chance to run into Miranda Priestly. Andy still cringed every time she remembered her unexplainable chase of the woman and her daughters in the Guggenheim Museum almost two months ago--.

"I'll get these kids."

Andy glanced at the photographer, then at the stage. "Um. Yeah. Um. Yeah." Shit. She really had to focus. She had work to do. She had to--.

Andy cautiously looked around. In the dark she could see only few people, sitting close by. None of them was Miranda Priestly. Good. The woman might not even be there at all.

Andy inhaled and exhaled slowly, took out a pen, but then paused. No, short of a hurricane or some other natural disasters, Miranda wouldn't miss this concert. Shit. Andy frowned and began forcefully jot down notes on the concert program.

As the applause erupted at the end of the first number, she told herself that the fact the woman was there didn't necessarily mean they would actually meet. Andy's grip on a pen relaxed a bit.

By the end of the fifth number Andy decided that meeting Miranda there might not be all that terrifying. After all, the woman knew nothing about being followed around Guggenheim. Besides, the assignment should occupy Andy enough to resist any kind of foolish urges. And if she did run into Miranda, it would be just a simple "Hello, how are you?" type of thing.

By the time she heard the first sounds of "Swan Lake," Andy's concert program was covered with notes sufficient to create a front-page article, let alone a small story in Around the Town, and she almost smiled, seeing the familiar redhead girls in a pretty white tutus.

After the concert Andy and Sean went backstage. She interviewed several kids, who participated in the concert, while he took some close up shots.

On the way out Andy spoke to Mrs. Whitaker, the principal of the school, which organized the event.

At the end the woman asked, "Ms. Sachs, would you mind terribly if I ask you to e-mail me a copy of your article before you submit it to your editor?"

"Um." Andy looked at her somewhat surprised. "Yeah, I guess."

Sensing the confusion Mrs. Whitaker explained. "You see, a lot of children attending the participating schools come from rather--er--prominent families. Hence we do have to exercise extreme caution when mentioning certain names in print." She smiled primly. "You do understand, don't you?"

After a brief hesitation, Andy nodded. She considered if she should tell Mrs. Whitaker that having spent almost a year working for Miranda Priestly, she had learned a thing or two about prominent people and caution. However before she decided either way, she froze, suddenly feeling as if a piece of ice slithered down her spine. Andy shivered and slowly turned to look back. Her gaze was met by Miranda Priestly's intense stare.

Instantaneously forgetting all about Mrs. Whitaker, and the plan of a simple "Hello, how are you," and her own need to breath for that matter, Andy thought, "Oh. Shit."

When a long moment later Miranda looked away, returning her attention to the couple she was having a conversation with, Andy shakily inhaled and exhaled. Oh, shit.

"So, do you want to get a drink or something?"

Startled, Andy gaped at Sean, then at Mrs. Whitaker, who already was speaking with an angry-looking woman, holding a little boy in a suit by the hand, then back at Sean.

"Um." She peeked over her shoulder to where Miranda stood only a few feet away, listening to a man next to her. "Um."

She could only see a part of Miranda's face, and she watched it for several moments as if waiting for her former boss to turn and look at her again. The woman didn't. Andy frowned, not entirely sure if she was relived that the encounter, she worried so much about, seemed to be over.

"Andy?" Sean was waiting for her answer.

"Um, sure." She finally managed. "Sure. Let's go."


	3. Third

**Third.**

Sean must have known some right people to be able to get two invitations to this photo exhibition - the sheer number of Hermes purses and Jimmy Choo pumps per squire foot of the small gallery was dazzling. Thankfully, Andy's tenure at Runway left her with some fashion sense and a decent wardrobe, so she didn't feel completely out of place there. Then again, if not for Runway, she wouldn't even notice anything like that. As, for instance, Sean, who happily walked around in his well-worn Gap jeans and an unknown name shirt and felt just fine about it.

"So, what do you think, Andy?" he asked, looking at a huge photograph in front of them.

There were several pictures in the exhibition that puzzled her, but this one made no sense at all. "I don't know." She shook her head. "No clue."

"Oh, come on," Sean urged. "You should have at least an idea."

"I should?" she snorted.

"Sure."

Smiling, she looked at the photograph in question, then at him. "You do realize this picture is one big blur."

With exaggerated huff Sean grabbed her hand and pulled her several steps back. "Now, what do you see?"

"Oh. Wow."

He then pulled her to the side. "How about here?"

"Oh. This is cool."

"I told you this guy's work is freaking incredible." Sean was beaming, as if it was his own exhibition they were talking about. "Plus, he's got an unbelievable agent."

"He has?"

"Look at it," Sean bent lower to whisper. "Look at these people." He pointedly whirled his eyes around the room. "They can make you famous over a Cosmopolitan. Or whatever they drink at their soirées."

"Hmm," said Andy.

"Have you ever heard them, you know, discussing someone? Like, you know, if he was talented or not?"

"Where would I hear that?"

Sean glanced at her. "Weren't you a part of those circles once?"

"Me?"

"Yea, one of the secretaries, I think Gina, told me that you used to work for this woman…what's her name…you know, the fashion queen…"

Andy had to cut him off, because for some reason the mere allusion to Miranda Priestly sent her pulse racing. "Sean, I fetched coffee and delivered laundry," she said nonchalant and took a calming breath.

"That's it?"

"Pretty much."

"Oh." He thought for a moment before continuing, "And here I hoped you could give me heads up. You know, some pointers on how to deal with these people." His tone was serious, but Andy could tell the guy was teasing her. She decided to play along.

She gave him a calculated look and then motioned him to come closer. "Alright, I'll give you a hint." Then in a grave tone she continued quietly, "The coffee has to be burning hot."

"Really?" Sean feigned a surprise.

Andy nodded with all the seriousness she could muster. Then after pretending that she checked if anyone listened in, she added in almost a whisper, "And one more thing – you have to shoot a couple of these." She pointed at the photograph in front of them.

Sean looked at the photograph, then at Andy and said, "I have to shoot a couple of these? That is just not fair!"

By the end of his sentence they were both snickering. A couple of women, who stood close by, moved away hastily, giving them scornful looks. Andy and Sean ignored them, as well as other people in the room, who no doubt were displeased about such a blatant breach of decorum. Not that they wanted to attract negative attention, but neither Andy nor Sean could do much about it – once one of them would calm down, the other's laughter would pull him or her into a new spin of merriment.

Finally, when their laughing fits began to subside, Andy realized that she'd being feeling somewhat uncomfortable for a while now. As if the temperature in the room dropped a good ten degrees. She shivered and began buttoning her jacket. But then, her fingers still on the second button, she slowly, so very slowly turned around.

Miranda Priestly stood not far away from her. She wasn't exactly looking at Andy, rather at that blur of a photograph, but no doubt the woman saw her, and only moments ago her icy glare was drilling holes in the back of Andy's scalp.

Her pulse suddenly frantic, Andy let go of the button. Somewhere on the back of her mind, she knew there was something she needed to do, to say, but it all was escaping her. So instead she stood there, watching with odd fascination her former boss studying a photograph.

But then Miranda turned her head to say something to a girl that hovered behind her shoulder and looked remarkably like a "new Emily." The girl nodded several times and quickly clacked away, pulling out a cell phone as she went. As Miranda's head began to turn back, Andy murmured, "I'll be right back," to Sean and fled.

"Shit, shit, shit," she thought hysterically as the restroom door closed behind her and she found herself in one stall, tiny room, half of which was occupied by a sink. Andy leaned on the wall and closed her eyes. Shit.

What was happening? Why did she keep acting like a lunatic around Miranda Priestly? The woman was just her former boss. A former boss from hell, and that's all. _That's all--_. Oh, god, did she just think 'that's all'? Andy half-snorted half-whimpered. Shit--.

She opened her eyes and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Could she be this pathetic? Andy took a shaky breath and closed her eyes again. Shit.

What was she going to do? She couldn't hide in the restroom forever. Sooner or later she'd have to come out. What if Miranda hadn't left by then? The thought alone made Andy's eyes fly open, and she quickly glanced around - the tiny room was still empty. Andy sighed with relieve. Theoretically, she understood that her former boss couldn't just magically appear in this restroom, but lately every time she thought about Miranda, the woman would just show up and--.

"Liar," Andy's mind declared. "If the woman showed up every time you think about her, you'd see her several times a day. May be more."

Andy almost groaned. What was happening?

As if to confirm her newly discovered theory, the restroom door opened and in walked Miranda Priestly herself. She closed the door carefully behind her and then looked straight at Andy, her gaze artic cold.

Instinctively, Andy backed away, although there wasn't much room for that.

"What are you doing here?" in a quiet, dangerous voice demanded Miranda.

"I--." Andy gulped, looking helplessly between the door to the toilet stall and the woman.

"Don't give me that, _Andrea_." Miranda made such an emphasis on her name that the chills ran up and down Andy's spine. "Don't play games with me. You perfectly understand what I mean."

"Um--." Andy gulped again. Frankly, she had no idea how to answer Miranda's question. For some reason, she knew that the story about her work colleague inviting her to this exhibition was not what her former boss was interested to hear. "Um."

"While you imitation of a fish is not without merits, I don't care for this particular entertainment." Hissing, Miranda made a step forward. "You better start telling me why you've been following me."

"I wasn't--." Andy tried to step back, but hit the wall.

"_Andrea_." If it was possible, Miranda's voice got even quieter, but the level of menace in it rose. "My daughters' concert? I am sure that even in that rag of yours they could've found someone else to cover the event."

"But--." All Andy could say before Miranda pressed on.

"Here? Where the invitations are so hard to come by?"

"No, I--." Andy shook her head, trying to interject.

"And you don't really think that I didn't see you in the Guggenheim, do you, _Andrea_?"

Andy gasped, and Miranda, eyes crackling with rage on a completely blank, expressionless face, made another step forward. Without any room to back away, Andy began to panic. Her breath rapid and shallow, she wondered if she every saw Miranda that angry before, and if she did, how the hell she managed to survive.

Meanwhile, the woman, her stare pinning Andy like a dead bug to the wall, continued. "So, what is it exactly you are trying to dig up? And why? Are you planning to write tell-all something or other? Go on one of those trashy television shows?"

"No, Miranda, no!" Somehow Andy found her voice. "I would never--."

"Of course not," interrupted Miranda. "You are a serious journalist after all, are you not?" The sarcasm in her voice was so cutting that Andy, her face suddenly burning, completely forgot what she was going to say.

"Well?" Miranda asked with a sneer. Sarcasm seemed to compose her. She didn't look as angry any more. Instead, she was watching Andy with a barely hidden disgust. And there was also a hint of disappointment.

Andy swallowed hard.

"Nothing to say? Very well then. Let me tell you something, Andrea Sachs." Miranda lost her sneer and her tone turned grave. "You can play Watergate, or whatever it is you are playing, as much as you want, but not with me. If you think that since I didn't hunt you down for abandoning your responsibilities at Runway, you have a leave to do whatever you're pleased, think again. I can promise you--."

Somewhere, in the middle of Miranda's rant, Andy began to calm down. After all, she knew something Miranda didn't – she really wasn't doing any spying, and she definitely wasn't going to make public anything concerning her former boss. Not that she would be able to tell it to Miranda just then.

As Andy regained her composure, she became aware how close Miranda stood. So close she could smell the woman's perfume - light, spine-tingling smell, which some famous designer created especially for her. So close she could see a little vein quivering on Miranda's left temple. So close she could tell the true color of the woman's eyes – deep blue. Strikingly blue. Beautiful--.

Oh shit, she wasn't staring into Miranda's eyes, was she? Shit! The next moment, Andy's gaze raced all over the woman's face before settling on the mouth. Andy slowly inhaled and exhaled. It wasn't out of the ordinary to look at the mouth of a person who was speaking to you, was it?

Up close Miranda's lips didn't seem as thin as Andy always thought they were. Not fashionably oversized, but nice. Skillfully traced by a lip pencil and covered by no doubt unique shade of lipstick, they were pleasant to watch. Which Andy did for a short while, until she realized that they'd stopped moving. It took her several long moments to understand what it meant – Miranda wasn't speaking any longer. Another several moments later, when the lips clamped together into a thin red line, she realized she was still staring at them. Shit--.

If there were any magic in the world, at that moment Andy would have given anything for the ability to disappear. But without that, all Andy was left to do was to squeeze her eyes shut. Then she braced herself and opened them. Miranda, her eyes widened, was staring at her.

"Oh shit," Andy thought in desperation.

Just then there was a knock at the door. "Miranda?"

The next moment Andy was shoved into the toilet stall, and the door slammed shut behind her.

"Miranda?" She heard the outside door opened.

"What is it?" Miranda's irritated voice asked.

"Roy is waiting." It was probably the "new Emily."

"Is there some kind of emergency that you feel justified bothering me in the restroom?"

"No--. But--. You said--."

Andy heard the outside door opened and closed again, and then it was quiet.

Her legs suddenly weak, she dropped the toilet cover down and sat heavily.

Oh. Shit.


	4. Fourth

**Fourth.**

It's been over a week since Sean and she went to the photo exhibition, but all Andy could think about was the "Restroom Incident." And Miranda Priestly.

Damn the woman! Wasn't it enough for her that for almost a year she owned Andy's life, shredding it to pieces day in and day out? What did she want from Andy now? Had she run out of assistants to harass? Didn't she have a fashion world to reign over?

Well?

Well.

As much as Andy wanted to blame Miranda, the truth of the matter was it was all her own fault. She brought it on her own head with the irrational behavior, and now she had to diffuse the situation. And make it fast. It was one thing to know in principal how much damage to her career Miranda, if properly motivated, could inflict. And it was another thing all together to know that she gave the woman a perfect reason to destroy her. If Miranda truly believed that Andy was planning to go public with some seedy information about her--. Shit.

Andy spent the weekend writing the flash cards, trying to predict every possible Miranda's remark and find the right reply to all of them. On Monday she took an early lunch break, locked herself in one of the unused offices, spread the flash cards on the desk, and began dialing.

She got lucky on her second attempt, when, instead of Emily's (god, she still worked there?) British-accented snooty "Miranda Priestly's office," she heard an unfamiliar voice. The girl on the other end of the line was probably new, because it didn't take long to persuade her that Mrs. Whitaker had a perfectly good reason to speak to Ms. Priestly directly on some school matters.

After a brief pause Miranda picked up. "Mrs. Whitaker?"

Andy swallowed hard and straightened the flash cards in front of her with shaky fingers. "No, Miranda, it's Andy. Andrea Sachs. Um. How are you?"

For what seemed like an eternity there was no answer. Then came a curt "fine."

"Um." She pulled closer one of the cards and started reading. "I need to tell you that--. Um--."

"My house, tomorrow morning at eight thirty." Miranda fired.

"But--."

"Can I assume you still remember where I live?" Miranda inquired coldly.

"Yes, yes, but--." There was a clicking sound and the phone went dead. "Miranda?" Andy asked automatically. Then she slowly replaced the receiver.

Oh. Shit.

There was no way in the world Andy was going to meet Miranda. No. Fucking. Way.

She wasn't sure if she slept at all that night. She kept jumping up every hour or so and squinting at the clock, then flopping back on the pillow and counting over and over again the sheep, the cows, the chickens, the bunnies. In the morning she spent an enormous amount of time in front of the mirror, going from outfit to outfit, unable to decide in which one Miranda would hate her the least.

On the bus she went through her flash cards and repeated her opening remarks several times, while she walked from the bus stop to Miranda's house. At Miranda's door she looked around, as if saying good-bye to a beautiful April morning, and then knocked.

Miranda opened the door, stepped aside to let Andy in, and quickly shut the door, as if afraid that someone from the street would see her.

"Good morning, Miranda," Andy said quickly, before she lost her courage.

"You have fifteen minutes." Came in a lieu of reply.

The woman walked past her, the familiar scent of perfume floating in the air, and for a moment Andy forgot why she was there. "Um--." She started hesitantly.

"My housekeeper will be back from the market in half an hour. You have to be out of my house by then."

Startled, Andy looked at Miranda. The woman never explained anything. If Andy didn't know any better, she would say that her former boss was nervous. But she did know better, so she took a deep breath and began. "Miranda, I wanted to explain--. To apologize--."

"Haven't you decided what it is you want, Andrea? Explain or apologize?" Miranda inquired coldly.

"Er--." Was there a flash card for this? "Apologize for--. Well, explain--."

"It appears that your command of English language has significantly deteriorated in the last eighteen months, Andrea," Miranda noted with a sneer.

Andy frowned – not it hadn't. It's just--. It was something else.

"I guess," Miranda's sneer turned spiteful, "I will need to assist you if this conversation is to be over in a foreseeable future."

Oh, this was so frustrating, Andy wanted to grind her teeth. "No, Miranda, it's okay, I can do it."

"Very well." Miranda crossed her arms on her chest. How did she manage to look beautiful and intimidating at the same time?

Her eyes on the woman, Andy opened her mouth and closed it again – she had no idea what she was going to say. Instead, with a complete clarity she suddenly realized that she should have never come there. She should have explained everything over the phone with the flash cards in front of her. What was she thinking coming there?

But more importantly what was she thinking standing there, in the hallway of Miranda Priestly's house, the woman, who she had a very good reason to be wary of, and, instead of speaking, staring at the said woman? Hastily Andy shifted her gaze away.

"Well?" Miranda prodded, pursing her lips.

"Yes, um." The fact that Andy began talking didn't mean much as she couldn't meet Miranda's eyes. Yet, she had to go on. "I wanted to apologies for giving you an impression that I was…um…watching you. I had no idea your daughters would be in the concert. I got the program only when I actually came there, and…" Andy paused to take a breath. "And I wasn't planning to go to the photo exhibition. The colleague of mine invited me at the last moment, because the person he was supposed to go with, couldn't make it. I had no idea you'd be there. And--. So--."

"So, it was all a pure coincident, wasn't it?" Miranda inquired softly. "And a misunderstanding on my part?"

"Yes, it was." Andy, foolishly hoping this would be enough, forgot about caution and looked at Miranda. The woman, the bright red spots on her cheek coming through the layers of perfect make-up, was livid.

"You. You, little sh--."

"Miranda?" Andy squeaked.

"How dare you to come to my house and lie through your teeth?"

Andy gulped, "I--." Oh yes, she should have never come. She knew it wouldn't end well.

But to her surprise, Miranda didn't press on with her attack. Instead, visibly pulling herself together, she sneered and gave Andy a calculating once over. "It certainly didn't take you too long to loose your provincial morals."

"I don't understand--."

"You don't, do you?" Miranda tapped her chin with her finger. "_Andrea_," it was hard to imagine anyone could infuse a three-syllable name with any more venom, "you followed me for at least three floors in the Guggenheim. Was it a pure coincident too?"

Well, there was that.

After a brief wait Miranda nodded, taking Andy's silence for a reply. "Now, lets pretend the previous conversation never happen." She looked sharply at Andy. "Lets assume that you do understand the consequences of making me upset with you."

"Miranda, I--," Andy tried to interject, but the woman raised the hand to stop her. "I don't--," Andy made another attempt. Miranda arched an eyebrow, and Andy finally gave in.

"Very well," announced the woman with grim satisfaction. She checked her watch, and, having thrown a detached "wait here," walked away to come back a minute later with a cell phone pressed to her ear. "Emily, tell Jocelyn to be ready by 11. Then call my housekeeper and tell her to pick up a couple of pastries for the girls. There is this bakery on the West Side. I bought a cake there once. I also want to see the prints for the Fall on my desk by this afternoon." Miranda snapped the phone shut and looked at Andy. "So, here is how we'll proceed." She began pacing. "First of all, you are going to tell me what kind of information you looking for and who is paying for it. Then, I want to know who in my office is selling you my schedule. Also--."

"Miranda, listen--." This was getting out of hand.

The woman glared at Andy and continued, "Also, I want to have all the notes, pictures, and whatever else you have collected."

"Miranda, please, it's not--." This had all the signs of a disaster waiting to happen written all over it, and Andy had no idea how to prevent it.

The woman ignored her. "You also need to tell me if you have already passed any information. And when."

As Miranda was passing her, in desperation Andy grabbed her by the elbow. "Miranda, stop!"

The woman froze.

"Oh. My. God." Andy thought, looking at her hand on Miranda's. ""What have I done?!"

Meanwhile, Miranda was also looking at Andy's hand on hers. Then she turned and looked straight at Andy. "_Andrea_?"

Shaking slightly, with "I am so sorry" ready on her tongue, Andy finally met Miranda's eyes. However, instead of apology, suddenly all she could think of was how warm Miranda's hand was under her fingers, and how strange the scent of Miranda's perfume made her feel, and how sad the lines around Miranda's mouth made the woman look, and how blue Miranda's eyes were, and--. "Miranda," Andy whispered and stepped forward.

She wasn't sure who made the next move, but when she felt Miranda's lips brushing hers, Andy realized just how long she had been waiting for this. She sighed, tilted her head a little for a better angle, and melted into the kiss.

For the next few moments nothing existed for Andy, except for the softness of Miranda's lips, and the light taste of coffee of Miranda's mouth, and the enthralling movements of Miranda's tongue against hers, and the feel of Miranda's fingers on the nape of her neck. Someone gasped, and someone whispered "oh," and someone whimpered, and someone murmured "more," but it was impossible to say who was doing any of these things. Not that anyone cared. All Andy could worry about just then was to be able to remain upright, seeing as her knees felt wobbly.

And then there was a high, persistent sound. A phone? Someone's phone was ringing, and the ring tone was strangely familiar. Her former boss used to have the ring tone just like that, Andy thought nibbling on Miranda's lower lip. Why would she start hearing Miranda Priestly's phone again, though? She didn't even work for the woman any longer. She was just in Miranda's house--. Oh, god--. Suddenly, it clicked.

Andy let go of Miranda and quickly backed away. Simultaneously, Miranda probably came to the similar realization, as she also hastily removed her hand from Andy's neck, and stepped back.

Then, they both looked at the phone, still ringing in Miranda's other hand. When the phone finally stopped, Andy looked at Miranda.

The woman's blue eyes seemed unfocused for a moment, wide and delirious. "What are you doing?" she barely moved her lips, like she wasn't sure if she could speak.

"I don't know," Andy whispered in response. She was doomed. She just kissed Miranda Priestly in her own house. She was dead.

And so she ran. Out the door, down a short flight of stairs, across the street, faster and faster Andy ran and ran until she couldn't run any more.

She stopped, gulping air, as if she hadn't breathed for days. Then she looked around and realized she had no idea where she was. Then again, it didn't matter. Really. With a groan, Andy buried her face in her hands. God, she just committed a suicide. A suicide by kissing Miranda Priestly. Weren't there simpler ways of finishing with ones life? Andy could swear there were.


	5. Fifth

**Fifth.**

For the next few days Andy walked around in a daze. When Lily asked her if she was all right, she almost broke down in tears. In the office she could barely concentrate, and her colleagues began to whisper behind her back after she practically screwed up an interview with a police officer, who was ready to walk away when she asked him for the third time "so, what exactly did you see?"

Finally, her editor took her for a cup of coffee, and right there, in the shop, told her that she was not to return to the office until she got her act together. He understood there were matters that affected a person's ability to do their job. However, what Andy should understand was that she was working for a newspaper, damn it, where no one could wait for her get over whatever it was that was bothering her.

It took a few moments for his words to sink in. Andy nodded mutely and watched him leave shaking his head. She couldn't even bring herself to argue.

In the next hour Andy watched her coffee getting cold, counted the number of chairs, lamps and napkins dispensers in the shop. Then she counted the number of red cars passing by. Then she ripped her receipt in a lot of tiny pieces and went home.

Andy knew she should be thinking about Miranda Priestly's likely revenge. Or at least about her own, suddenly uncertain, sexuality. And she did. For about half an hour after fleeing Miranda's house, when she wandered aimlessly, agonizing over what she had done. But then she thought about the softness of Miranda's lips under hers, and Miranda's eyes amazing shade of blue, and the way Miranda's perfume made her want to inhale more often. Andy thought about those and all other little things that she had learnt about the woman quite by chance in the past three month, and then she knew with an unexpected certainty – she was in love with Miranda Priestly.

The realization almost made her choke, because, really, Miranda Priestly? The Ice Queen, who ruled the fashion world with an iron fist? Her former boss, who she abandoned in Paris in the middle of the most important for the magazine week, because she couldn't stand the way Miranda did her job any longer? A woman, who was God knew how many years her senior? Honestly, no matter how one would look at it, it was impossible. Preposterous. Ridiculous. And yet from the moment Andy saw her smile in the Guggenheim museum, she was totally, all-consuminlgy, painfully, head over heels in love with Miranda.

"Miss. Miss, this is the last stop."

Andy raised her head to look at the conductor, then around an empty car. Shit, she missed her stop. Again.

Out on the platform she sat on the bench to wait for her train. An hour later she finally got off the bench. Another hour later she managed to get home.

It was dark already, when she finally made it to her apartment. Without turning on the lights or taking her clothes off, Andy crawled on the bed and curled into a fetal position. She dearly wished she could go to sleep and wake up when the world would make sense again and the object of her affection would be someone who didn't consider her an enemy...

"Andrea. Andrea!"

"Mmm." What now? If she was going to be dreaming of Miranda, couldn't the woman be nice to her at least in her dream?

"Andrea."

Oh, shit. Andy cracked her eyes open and almost jumped off the bed. "Miranda?"

The room was brightly lit now, and Andy looked around wildly. She was still at home, in her own bed, why then--. She looked at Miranda, who was standing in her complete "I-am-going-to-some-fancy-dinner" magnificence, frowning at Andy.

"Miranda, what--," Andy gulped, "what are you doing here?"

Miranda's gaze slid over her, making Andy shiver involuntary, before returning to her face. "You don't pick up your phone and your door was open. Are you ill?"

"Um." Andy furred her brown. The door? The phone? Why would Miranda be calling her? To say how her carrier was over? "Um, no, I am alright."

"You don't look--," Miranda started, but seemed to think better of it. She cleared her throat, pivoted on her heals, and walked to the window.

For a moment Andy was still, before she managed to shake the trance off and scrambled off the bed. She glanced at her crumpled shirt, and her bare feet sticking out of the hunched up pants, and the messed up covers, and one of the boots thrown on the bed. Shit, shit, shit. Trying hastily to fix her hair and straighten her clothes, she searched for the other boot, which remained elusive.

All her efforts seemed to be in vain, though, because when she raised her head to look at Miranda, her gaze was met with a sneer.

"Can I offer you something?" Andy managed weakly. "Tea, coffee--." She trailed off under Miranda's cold stare.

The woman paused, giving Andy a calculating once over, as if she was trying to determine if Andy's disheveled appearance deserved a comment, but uttered only, "No, thank you." Andy felt another shiver ran through her, only this time, to her complete horror, it was accompanied by a quickly spreading blush.

"Uh," she started again, averting her gaze from Miranda, "so--." She gestured her guest from the tiny bedroom into the living room. "You were calling me to--."

"Are you sure you are quite all right?" Miranda interrupted her coldly.

"Yes, I am." Andy stated, before she realized her extended hand was trembling. She stuck both hands (forget the manners) in the pockets and repeated with forced conviction, "Yes, I am."

"Very well," said Miranda and walked past Andy into the living room. The smell of the familiar perfume hit Andy's nostrils, and suddenly the memory of the kiss jumped to the forefront of her mind. "Oh. My. God," she thought in panic, because the desire to reach out and grab the woman was overwhelming. Andy gulped, infinitely grateful her hands remained in the pockets.

Meanwhile, Miranda walked around the living room, as if considering if she should sit down, but deciding against it. "So," she finally stopped, "I believe we need to finish our," she cleared her throat, "conversation."

Andy opened her mouth and quickly closed it again, afraid that the only sound that could come out would be a whimper.

"You see, _Andrea_, despite your vehement denials, your behavior seemed to indicate that you did speak to--uh--some people." She glanced sharply at Andy.

"People?" The word came out as a croak.

"Tell me," suddenly, Miranda was right in front of her, "who talked? Was it Michelle? One of her confidants?"

Andy furred her brows and tried very hard to understand what Miranda was talking about. But the woman was so close, and her eyes were so blue, and the lock of the beautiful silver hair on her forehead just begged to be touched, and--.

"All right," Miranda glared, "you've proven your point. Name your price."

Andy made an enormous effort to concentrate on Miranda's words. "Um--." And then it dawned on her. Oh. Oh, god, that was why she wasn't dead yet. Her gaze automatically moved to Miranda's mouth. So, she didn't imagine that she wasn't the only one, who did the kissing last time. Andy licked her lips.

"Andrea?" Cool fingers touched her chin. "Look at me."

Her heart skipped a beat, and Andy froze for a moment, before she obeyed, moving her gaze very slowly up until it met with Miranda's cold stare. Then they stood, their eyes locked, for a few long moments, before something shattered in Miranda's face.

"You--you have a boyfriend," she stated in a broken whisper.

"Not any more." Andy shook her head slightly, her eyes never leaving Miranda's.

"That boy…at school, in the gallery…"

"Just a colleague." Andy said, inwardly chanting "please, please, please," although she wasn't sure what for and whom she was begging.

"Oh."

Andy waited only for a spilt of a second before she made a step forward and mashed her lips with Miranda's. For the next few moments it was like she didn't know how to kiss, because it was all about contact – the tighter the better. But then Miranda moaned and opened her mouth, and the contact morphed into something damp, and warm, and so completely wonderful that Andy got a hold of Miranda's shoulders to make sure that this sensation would never end. In response, one of the woman's hands curled around Andy's waist and the other - dug into the hair at the back of her head.

"Ah--," Andy gasped and clenched her fingers tighter onto the soft fabric of Miranda's jacket, when sometime later Miranda pulled away. But the woman only took one ragged breath before her lips were back on Andy's, and her tongue was licking inside Andy's mouth.

"Oh," protested Miranda, when later still Andy ripped her mouth away from Miranda's to get some air. But, quickly deciding that breathing was largely overrated, Andy immediately dove in for another kiss. In appreciation, Miranda pulled her closer.

"Yes," exhaled Andy, when one of Miranda's hands got underneath Andy's shirt. The cool palm, sliding up and down her bare back, drove Andy mad. She was shaking then, because as perfect as the kissing was, she needed more. And she began moving her mouth down to Miranda's jaw and long, beautiful neck in little nips and licks, while her hands after a long hesitation finally abandoned Miranda's shoulders and went to work on the buttons of the woman's jacket.

"Oh, god," Miranda panted hard, as her other hand joined the first one underneath Andy's shirt. Andy was so far gone by then that the buttons turned to be more than she could handle, and she simply ripped the jacket off of Miranda, without ever removing her lips from the woman's warm skin. The clicking of the torn buttons on the floor didn't concern either of them - Andy was too busy trying not to hyperventilate as she felt Miranda's hands, back under her shirt the moment she freed them from the jacket's sleeves, cupping her breasts, and Miranda, her thumbs sliding over Andy's suddenly taut nipples, her mouth attached to the hollow of Andy's throat, seemed too occupied to pay attention to such non-essential things as torn buttons.

And then it was hard to say who was doing what. There were hands, and lips, and bites, and discarded clothes, and moans, and whimpers. Andy couldn't tell how long this bliss lasted before Miranda pulled back and gasped, "Wait--ah--wait."

What? Why? Andy furred her brow and licked her lips. There was absolutely no reason to wait, was there? And she expressed her disagreement by reaching out and pulling Miranda to her.

But the woman was stubborn. "Wait," she said again and went to work on carefully untangling her limbs and other parts of her body from Andy's. It took a while, because her movements were not very steady, and Andy hindered her efforts.

Finally free, Miranda, sensing that Andy was getting ready to pounce her, raised her eyebrow in warning. "Andrea, wait," she said almost coldly as she got up from the couch, where they'd collapsed some time earlier. But then she bent and gave Andy a quick kiss. "Wait," the woman whispered against her lips, as her fingers stroke the sides of Andy's neck.

Still the feeling of loss washed over Andy, when she saw Miranda made several steps away. "Please, don't go," was on the tip of her tongue. "Please." But then the small part of Andy's brain, which was still functioning, told her that without a blouse, with her bra crooked so that one of the breast was almost out, with her skirt half undone and ridding so low on her hips it could fall any moment, Miranda was not going far.

And indeed, after wandering unsteadily around the room, Miranda seemed to find what she was looking for – her purse. She fished out a cell phone and pressed a speed dial number.

"Emily," she cleared her throat and turned away from Andy, "Emily, cancel my dinner." She listened for a moment before hissing, "I don't have time to deal with your incompetence." Frowning, she listened some more before stating, "Do it. That's all." She snapped the phone shut and threw it with an air of distaste back into the purse. She then shook her silver mane, turned to Andy and said, narrowing her eyes, "So, where were we?"

Andy's breath caught, because even in her worst – disheveled, half-dressed, with ruined make-up – Miranda looked absolutely gorgeous. And then she smiled, and Andy forgot to breathe altogether. It was the warmest, the nicest, the most real smile Andy ever seen on Miranda's face. Kind of like the Guggenheim one, only better.

Miranda made a step forward, and Andy, a sudden relief chocking her, jumped up from the couch and threw herself at the woman. "Oof," was all that Miranda managed before Andy's lips were on hers and Andy's hands were around her.

From that moment on there were no more interruptions. And if Andy was afraid that her ignorance on the subject of making love to a woman would mar the occasion, shortly it was too late to worry about it.

They ended up in Andy's bed around midnight. They were both thoroughly exhausted and completely incapable to carry on any longer. Still, her head on Miranda's shoulder, her arm around Miranda's middle, Andy couldn't stop smiling. This--this was perfect. Even Miranda's fingers, drawing tickling patterns on her shoulder, seemed to spell p-e-r-f-e-c-t.

"I have to go," Miranda sighed.

"You--could stay, you know," offered Andy.

"No. I would never make it home before the girls are up." Miranda stirred and nudged Andy to let go.

After a brief hesitation, Andy did, but not before she kissed Miranda's shoulder and inhaled deeply, "God, you smell good."

"Andrea, right now I smell like--," the woman didn't finish, looking at Andy's smiling face. Instead, she cleared her throat, brushed her lips on Andy's temple, and quickly got up.

Miranda looked around the bedroom and found only her skirt, which miraculously had come off last. She put it on and went to the living room in search of the rest of her clothes. Andy followed.

She stood in the doorway, watching Miranda walk around the room, resolutely ignoring her in favor of the clothes quest. "You are so beautiful," Andy whispered, surprising herself.

"Pardon?" Miranda squinted at her.

"Um, when can I see you again?" she wasn't sure if she managed not to blush.

"I'll--I'll call you."

"Cool." Andy grinned. "My cell is probably the best way to reach me, but when I am in the office, I might be on a meeting, or--."

Miranda looked at her raising the eyebrow, and then Andy did blush. "Um. When do you think we can meet? How about next week?"

Working on her blouse buttons Miranda didn't answer right away. "On Sunday I am flying to Hawaii for the shoots."

"Oh. The week after?"

"I'll be quite busy with the Fall issue," said Miranda surveying the damage done to her jacket.

"Wait," suddenly it was chilly in the room, "you are not going to call me, are you?"

Miranda put on the jacket, looked straight at Andy, and stated, "I don't think it would be a good idea."

Andy was never into confrontations, but then she asked, "Why?"

Miranda raised her brow.

"Humor me," asked Andy.

With a sigh the woman conceded. "As soon as the word gets out about," she waved her hand between them, "no doubt, my ex-husband will come up with some idiotic lawsuit about how unsuitable I am to raise two teenage girls. And all those incompetent assistants, editors, and models I've got rid of over the years. Do you think they will miss a chance to notify anyone, willing to listen, that they lost their jobs only because they didn't want to sleep with me?" Without waiting for the answer Miranda took her purse. "Bathroom?"

Silently, Andy pointed at the bathroom door and watched Miranda disappeared behind it. Then she began shivering. Automatically, she picked up her own, completely crumpled now, shirt, put it on, and went looking for pants.

When ten minutes later Miranda emerged from the bathroom, looking like she might still make that dinner, Andy gulped and said quietly, "You know, we could keep it--uh--a secret."

"Andrea," Miranda started sternly, but softened her tone, "you've seen my schedule. Every minute of my day is--." She shrugged and pulled her almost buttonless jacket tighter around her. "Besides, how long will it be before you'd hate it that we can't go together to the movies and such?" She stepped closer and brushed Andy's cheek with her knuckles. "It won't work."

Looking straight into Miranda's eyes Andy dared to ask, "So, this," she swallowed around a limp in her throat, "this was because of what's-her-name Michelle, was it?"

Miranda removed her hand and after a pause said, "No."

"Why, then?"

A small sad smiled playing on her lips, the woman cocked her head. She looked Andy up and down, then stepped closer, and whispered in her ear, "You are extremely fetching."

Andy opened her mouth to say something, but Miranda shook her head, quickly pecked her on a cheek, and left.

Unsaid words - can we talk about it, what about the previous fabulous three hours, I love you, please, don't go – tasted bitter in Andy's mouth long after Miranda was gone.

…

**Fin.**

…

…

…

**A/N **Thank you for reading and reviewing.


End file.
